Can there be a more courteous, if puzzling, pair of gentlemen than George Passmore and Gilbert Proesch? Affable and solicitous, they're like old-fashioned bachelor uncles, the sort who delight in producing gifts from their tailored pockets. In the case of Passmore, who's 70, and Proesch, who's 68, these homemade surprises can be very unexpected, tending- as they do- to depict a colourful combination of blood, semen, urine, faeces and their own private parts. You may have seen such offerings by the two Mr Ps under their better-known stage name: Gilbert & George.
The pair were in town recently for the world premiere of their 'London Pictures' exhibition, which marked the opening of London's White Cube gallery in Hong Kong. Since the beginning, when they met in London, in 1967, at what was then called St Martin's School of Art (now Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design), they've described themselves as sculptors. But what they quickly became were performance artists- a singular 'living sculpture'. These days, all the world's their stage and the rest of us merely the agog audience.
Here they are, then, perched on two chairs in the echoing gallery, the day before the private view, wearing their natty suits and, in George's case, a tiny red flower in his buttonhole. (Asked where he plucked it, he makes a vague gesture but it looks suspiciously like the ones in the floral displays along the Exchange Square walkway.)
Anyone who spent a childhood exposed to British television comedians will recognise them instantly: they're Morecambe and Wise. George, balding and bespectacled, is Eric and Gilbert, shorter and squarer, is Ernie. When this marked likeness is pointed out, a little cloud passes over George's good-natured brow. Comparing his voice to that of Prince Charles' goes down much better: 'You're very kind,' he murmurs.
Given that he was brought up in near-poverty by a single parent in Devon, where did these regal tones come from? 'Blame the mother,' says Gilbert, who's a near-caricature of a lovable Italian, interjecting droll comments with rolling eyes and vowels. 'My mother wanted more for us,' agrees George. 'My brother and I were dressed differently and we weren't allowed to play with other boys. She sent us to elocution lessons from an actor in the village.'
The world knows what happened to George after such an upbringing but his brother, as a career flipside, became a vicar, a detail- like much of the G&G story- so unlikely it must be true.